


Sleeping Sickness

by trololonasty



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Mentions of Violence, Post-Season/Series 03, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-26
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2019-08-07 20:42:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16415606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trololonasty/pseuds/trololonasty
Summary: Prompts: 91 “I’m fine.” & 132 “I haven’t slept in four days.” Requested on Tumblr.





	Sleeping Sickness

When you didn’t hear from Michael for days, you began to worry. It was not like you knew him long or well enough to assume anything, but he didn’t seem like the kind of guy who would ghost you without a reason or an explanation. Then he missed your date and every one of your calls, though there weren’t that much. You didn’t want to become a nuisance to anyone; you were not going to be that type of a clingy girlfriend. No one liked that. No one needed that. 

On the fifth day, you decided that you had had enough. If something had happened, you had the right to know it. And if he wanted to break it off with you, he might as well say it to your face. 

So, you went to his office, but it turned out he hadn’t shown up there for quite some time too. Then you went to his home; at that point, you didn’t particularly care if you were being clingy or not. You gut was telling you that something wasn’t right. As far as you knew, Michael would never shirk work: he was kind of obsessed with his job, fascinated by his cousin who was simultaneously his boss. You only heard tales of Thomas Shelby, never having met him in person, but it was enough to know that his example wasn’t quite safe to follow. 

The door was opened by a woman who you could only guess was Michael’s mother. Although the circumstances of your meeting might have been better, you reckoned you would have to deal with whatever first impression you’d made. 

“Sorry to bother you,” you said, under the woman’s scrutinizing stare. In your experience, being polite was never a bad start. “I’m Y/N Y/L/N. I’m here for Michael?” A little rise at the end gave away your nervousness and insignificant uncertainty. 

“Oh,” she said, lifting up the corners of her mouth just a bit, not really smiling. You had a feeling that she was evaluating you, and, quite frankly, she probably was. “I’ve heard of you. I’m Michael’s mother. You can call me Polly. Everyone else does.”

You nodded, with an appropriate ‘nice to meet you’. There was something intimidating about the other woman, but also something mysterious and magnetic. Michael didn’t lie when he told you that his mother was one of a kind.

“Is he home then?” you enquired. “Can I see him?”

Polly looked hesitant as though she wasn’t sure she should let you come in. Maybe Michael had instructed her that he didn’t want to see you, and now she didn’t know how to break it to you. Whether you were willing to admit it or not, the thought stung. You shifted your weight uncomfortably, suddenly feeling too exposed. 

“He is home,” she finally replied, pursing her lips. “But out of sorts. You sure you can deal with it? Do you want to?” 

“I’m sure.” You didn’t miss a beat. “It’ll be fine.” 

Polly seemed skeptical, but she didn’t say anything else on the matter. It was your decision after all. Who knows, maybe you could really help. 

“If you say so.” She stepped out of your way. “It’s the first door on the left upstairs.”

You squeezed past her, muttering your thanks. Polly didn’t mention it, but you had a feeling that she would definitely keep an ear out for whatever was about to happen once you were behind that closed door. 

You came up the stairs and lightly knocked on the door. The muffled pacing on the other side stopped abruptly, and then there was silence.

“Michael, it’s me,” you decided to let him know. “Sorry for intrusion, but you disappeared without a warning, I didn’t know what to think… Michael?”

You were starting to lose patience. Talking to the closed door without any recognition annoyed you. But just when you were about to give Michael your piece of mind, the handle turned and he finally revealed himself, stepping out of his hiding hole.

“What are you doing here?” The question didn’t sound exactly polite, which once again made you doubt if you had made the right call coming here. 

“I already said I was worried.” He looked you up and down, weighing your words, trying to decide whether to believe you or not and what to do about it. “Look, if you don’t want me here, we can talk some other time-”

“No,” he interrupted. “It’s all right. You can come in.”

He stepped back, leaving the door open. You walked into the room, closing it behind you, and then stood there, suddenly lost to what to say or how to behave. 

Michael came up to the bedside table and took a cigarette out of the cigarette box lying there. The smoke swirled in the air around him; he started pacing again. You took off your light coat and threw it on the nearest chair.

“So,” you spoke again, realising that he was not going to start a conversation. “What have you been up to?”

He chuckled unmerrily, which sent cold shivers running up and down your spine. 

“Nothing much.”

You raised your eyebrows. You didn’t expect all-detailed honesty, but the answer he gave you was vaguer and less believable than a lie. You weren’t going to settle for that.

“Really?” You crossed your arms over your chest in a defensive gesture. “So that was the reason why you stood me up, huh? And since when does ‘nothing’ prevent you from going to work for almost a week?”

He cast you a cautious side glance at the mention of his not showing up to the office. 

‘It’s complicated,” he finally said.

“Oh, don’t give me that,” you snorted, striding towards him. “Your mother’s worried too, you know.”

“Well, there’s not much I can do about it, is there?” He shrugged it off, evading all your efforts to face him. Then added in a voice which made it clear that he was getting really annoyed by the interrogation, “I’m fine.”

“Well, I don’t believe you.” You finally managed to back him in a corner, leaving no room for manoeuvre. He had no other choice except to look straight at you. His face was impenetrable, but his eyes were giving him away. Whatever he was not telling you, you could see that it was besetting him. 

“It’s your problem then, isn’t it?” There was no trace of emotion in his voice.

It was moments like that that made you shudder because it was then when you felt like he could do about anything to anyone without so much as batting an eye. 

“Why did you let me in?” You changed the topic rather unexpectedly. “You could have just told me to go away. You want me here, don’t you?”

You sounded almost accusatory as though you had caught him in a lie, which wasn’t so far from the truth, you reckoned. 

“Perhaps I do,” he conceded after a couple of moments of consideration. ”But it doesn’t mean that it’s good for me. Or you. Nor does it mean that it’s what I need.”

His words perplexed you.

“Then what is it you need?”

“Peace of mind.” He shrugged. “And maybe some sleep. I haven’t slept in four days.”

“Michael.” Knitting your eyebrows in concern, you placed a hand on the thick fabric of his vest, worry evident in your voice. “What’s happened?”

And again, he chuckled in a way that you couldn’t describe as anything but mocking.

“You think the truth will help you? All right.” He leaned in, whispering in your ear, “I killed a man.”

He stepped back to watch your reaction, but you failed to provide any, feeling glued to a place while your mind was racing. There was a lot to process. 

“It wasn’t an accident if that’s what you think. I wanted to kill him. He deserved to die. He had to. I would have done it all over, given the chance.” You still didn’t utter a word. It unnerved him. “Aren’t you going to say anything?”

He wasn’t sure why he told you. Probably wanted to test you. Maybe to scare you. He didn’t feel remorse nor was he bothered by the fact of committing murder. His mind was simply preoccupied with thoughts and images he didn’t quite know what to do with yet. He was killing the priest every time he closed his eyes, and the adrenaline rush it was giving him prevented him from getting much needed sleep. He was excited, yet completely exhausted, as if he had been high for far too long without ever touching cocaine. He hadn’t left his room in almost five days. 

When you spoke, it was by all means not what he expected to hear. 

“Do you have a shirt I can borrow?”

He looked at you as if you had grown a second head.

“What for?”

“I don’t want my clothes to get wrinkled if you don’t mind.” You shrugged, unperturbed, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. 

“Why?”

“You said you needed sleep, didn’t you? So we’re going to bed.”

Now it was Michael’s turn to remain speechless, and you were smugly proud of yourself for catching him off guard. He most likely thought you would make a scene, but you knew exactly who he was and what kind of life his family led since the day you met him. And though the rational part of you was telling you to run and never look back, your heart was persuading you to stay. Maybe it was foolish, but you were not going to back out now when he needed you, consequences be damned. You were not leaving him alone. 

So, you took him by the hand and led him to the bed. He silently followed, then suddenly came to a halt halfway to your destination. Tugging your hand, he turned you around, pulling you closer to him; next thing you knew, he was kissing you passionately, cupping your face. It was the first time Michael had initiated contact since you stepped into his room, and it was long overdue in your opinion. You were starving for his touch, and whatever doubts you may have had, had just got thrown out of the window. 

“You’re not quite like the others,” he muttered after breaking the kiss, leaning his forehead against yours. 

“You’re quite extraordinary yourself.” You mimicked his tone with a soft and a bit mischievous smile. “Now come on. It’s time to get some shut-eye.”


End file.
